


Daddy Issues

by birdcages7



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Rimming, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25291837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdcages7/pseuds/birdcages7
Summary: In the corner of the living room sat Neil’s chair. One Billy remembered from childhood. Remembered Neil just sitting in it, watching tv or reading the paper. The one younger Billy was bent over to be punished for kid shit. Tracking sand and mud into the house. Being late home after school because he cut through the park and got distracted by the swings or by his friend Denny discovering an ant hill to go kick. The chair itself wasn’t anything special, didn’t even recline. But Billy hated it. He hated the grey fabric and sinking cushions. He hated the way it had been molded over years of use to his father’s frame.He hated that he almost fit into it now.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 5
Kudos: 124





	1. Thursday

Thursday night was Neil and Susan’s date night. God knows what they did. Billy didn’t care to think too much about it. All he knew was they were gone, and Max had secret nerd club. As long as he went and got her by ten she’d always been in the house. That was the deal. Thursday night was when Harrington came over. The one night a week he dared set foot into the house Billy lived in. It wasn’t a home. Not by far. 

In the corner of the living room sat Neil’s chair. One Billy remembered from childhood. Remembered Neil just sitting in it, watching tv or reading the paper. The one younger Billy was bent over to be punished for kid shit. Tracking sand and mud into the house. Being late home after school because he cut through the park and got distracted by the swings or by his friend Denny discovering an ant hill to go kick. The chair itself wasn’t anything special, didn’t even recline. But Billy hated it. He hated the grey fabric and sinking cushions. He hated the way it had been molded over years of use to his father’s frame. 

He hated that he almost fit into it now.

But when Harrington was around, he loved that chair. Billy loved having his jeans pulled off by eager fingers, loved having his bare ass all over the stupid fabric again. He loved having Harrington sit on his knees on the floor, rolling his sweet pink tongue over Billy’s cock like it was a melting creamsicle in the middle of July. Oh, the chair was perfect for that. Gave the right amount of support so Billy could just sit back and watch candy red lips stretched to breaking, feel warm drool drip down to his balls, finger through the fine curls at the back of Harrington’s head, just above his collar. Meet chocolate almond eyes, dark and gone, lost in lust in such a way that just made Billy’s dick kick up into the velvet of a soft palate.

“Good boy. You’re always so good for daddy ain’t ya?”

Dirty talk almost made Harrington go cross eyed. Made him squeeze his covered thighs together. Made his tongue more dangerous and eager to please. It was almost sad how much Harrington got off on the smallest amount of praise, being told he was good at something even if it was just sucking dick in another guy’s house. But he was so good at it. His mouth was made for it. Warm and soft and inviting.

Billy understood the need to be told you were good.

He moved his hand in Harrington’s hair, dragged his fingers over the other boy’s scalp and grabbed a handful sharply. Felt the whine vibrate around his cock. “You gonna be a good boy and swallow for me?”

Harrington’s eyes fluttered closed. Another vibration rolled around Billy’s prick. He smirked and shifted forward to the edge of the chair. Harrington was good and knew to shuffle back on his knees. It was easier if Billy sat at the edge. He moved his hand again to rub the back of Harrington’s pale neck, brushing over the couple of moles that lived back there. Secret hidden soft spots.

Billy was good to his boy.

“Take a deep breath. Daddy’s got you. Wouldn’t let anything happen to my boy.”

Harrington glanced up, slid his lips so they were just around Billy’s aching cockhead and swept his tongue through a weeping slit, probing with the tip just a little, moaning like a little whore. Making Billy groan and want to just hold him there, have him keep doing that until he came. Instead Billy pressed his foot over Harrington’s crotch, still covered in denim. Made those almond eyes roll into the back of his head. A promise and a threat.

“Be good now. Or I’m just gonna take it. And I don’t wanna have to just take it.”

The mischievous tongue relaxed and Harrington breathed deep, held it as he sank back down. Billy felt like he was going to lose his mind every time he felt the back of Harrington’s throat. He definitely did every time he was swallowed into tight, unrelenting, wetness and warmth. God it was so much better than any pussy could possibly be. Billy held Harrington in place and started counting in his head, petting his boy and fighting the urge to rock his hips to nudge deeper still. Rumor was Harrington used to be a pretty good swimmer. He still had the lung capacity for it. With a little training they were just over a minute now. A minute of being swallowed down. Of watching Harrington’s perfect mouth stretched so far it must hurt, but he never complained before, during or after. A minute of feeling that tongue pressed wide and flat, moving just so, trying to roll around but not finding the room. A minute of petting and cupping a pale cheek, thumbing over little moles affectionately.  _ Good boy _ .

Billy held him firmer past the minute. Only by a little. He knew the signs to stop. Usually when drool would start to leak freely, drip down Billy’s balls to the floor.

Harrington was fucking sloppy. Billy loved it.

87 seconds and Billy pulled back, sat back in the chair he despised and loved and sometimes now twitched to life in his jeans looking at, knowing what happened on it every Thursday night. Harrington coughed, eyes watery and red, but didn’t complain, Billy still connected to his mouth by thin strands of spit. He panted hard as Billy pet his hair, his cheeks, thumbed over his jaw. All little touches but all affirming the same thing.

“Good boy. God you’re so good for me, ain’t ya?”

Harrington nodded at the question even though it was rhetorical and let himself be pulled back closer to the chair, his home between Billy’s strong legs, slid his lips around Billy’s throbbing slick cock and got back to work with abandon.

Billy’s free hand clawed at the fabric on one of the armrests. The one he used to be bent over. It was always the same one. Let his head roll back and groan. Let bad memories become fuzzy around the edges and be replaced by this, by being brought to the edge and tipped over into the abis. Let the thought that if Neil even had the smallest idea of what happened on his precious chair that had been dragged all the way from California it would be tossed onto a bonfire while Billy would probably be in a coma somewhere. 

It made shooting into Harrington’s perfectly sinful mouth with a cry to the popcorn ceiling even sweeter every time.


	2. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every Friday he wound up at Harrington’s empty mansion. Every Friday night they wound up in Harrington Sr’s office, the lock jimmied open with a butterknife, door left halfway closed as Harrington sat naked in his father’s leather chair.

Friday was the one day a week Billy didn’t have a curfew. He’d worked hard to earn it. God he’d worked so hard. He didn’t know how long the small attempt at actual responsible parenting would last but he was determined to make the most of it.

Every Friday he wound up at Harrington’s empty mansion. Every Friday night they wound up in Harrington Sr’s office, the lock jimmied open with a butterknife, door left halfway closed as Harrington sat naked in his father’s leather chair. Body bent and folded. Legs up on the arms, spread and exposed like a bitch in a gynecologist’s office. Billy’s tongue flat and wet and warm over his pink little hole, flicking and lapping and teasing the rim just so. Just enough to make his boy whine and clamp his fingers into the top of the chair until his already pale knuckles were white with force.

Billy had to look after his boy. Care to his needs. Make sure his own issues were attended to.

Before the first time, Harrington had been embarrassed with his request. Wasn’t sure Billy would understand where it was coming from. But Billy understood more than words would ever convey.

Harrington grew up with no father figure. Tutors and maids taking that role. Coming in and out of his life on a turnstile. Never long enough to get properly attached to anyone. His father was a ghost that just lived in family portraits. In this office lined with books that had never been read. The only time Harrington had been allowed in was to be punished after a bad report card. Failing english and history and science and math. Harrington wasn’t stupid. His brain just didn’t work that way. But no one listened to that. He’d been bent over the desk once his whole life but it was enough. The rest of the time it had been just verbal repromandings. Demands and threats but no reward. Stick but no carrot.

Billy was better to his boy than that. Had Harrington mewling from his tongue, had his hole fluttering for something bigger. Something thicker. Something that Harrington was good enough to get, but he needed this first. Needed to be worked open and made boneless. Made to wait. Billy sucked on his fingers audibly until they were dripping, pressed one against Harrington as a warning before slowly pushing into tight muscle. 

How it was still tight Billy had no idea.

He rolled the tip of his tongue around the digit as Harrington’s body sucked him deep. The leather of the chair creaked.

“Please,” Harrington begged, whole body now starting to sweat with holding on. “Please. You know I can take it.”

Billy just hummed and kept up his slow pace, pushing the tip of his tongue in with his finger. Just a little. Adding more spit. Curling his finger to find that sweet spot hidden deep but not press it. Just tease. Make his boy fall apart. Make his lengthy cock drool over his lean stomach, twitch in desperation.

“Patience boy. Stop whining or I’ll stop and leave you here.” Billy shot a look upwards. Harrington’s hair was stuck to his forehead, dark and damp. His eyes were wild and frantic. But he swallowed and nodded. He knew Billy was deadly serious. Billy didn’t say anything he didn’t mean. Not in situations like this.

“S-sorry daddy,” he said shakily around a thick swallow, shuffling a little in the chair.

Billy gave him another finger and a kiss on the back of his thigh for his good behaviour. Billy wasn’t a mean person in this world. He wasn’t one for punishments and beatings. They’d both had more than enough of them, one way or another. He was in control, yes, but not through violence. Not here. That anger was saved for the outside world. Behind closed doors he was different. Harrington was different. And no one outside needed to know anything about what they did. How they both needed this every week to keep going. Physical therapy to fix emotional scars.

A third finger and Harrington was flushed pink all over. His cock was an angry red and leaking pre over his stomach like a forgotten tap. But he was good, kept his hands back and away from himself the whole time. Kept watching like he was told to do.

He was  _ good _ .

Billy took his hand back and sweetly kissed Harrington’s balls as he got to his feet, finding his discarded jeans and the foil packet of lube inside the back pocket.

“Bend over for me baby.” 

Harrington didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled out of the chair, pushing it back against the wall with the force of his movements and lay flat on the dark maple wood of his father’s desk. His cock hung heavy, down between his spread legs. Dripping. Pink hole visibility slick and open, fluttering, waiting for something to clamp onto. Waiting for Billy. He came back and stood between his boy’s pale stance, watched his lean frame pant in wanting but never say it, fingers curled up around the edge of the desk to brace himself. Billy petted his perk cheeks, leant down and kissed over the moles that spread out across his back, down his spine and back up again, ripping the packet open to slick himself up.

“You’re so  _ good _ for me. So, so  _ good _ .”

With his free hand, he ran his fingers through Harrington’s sweaty mane, turned his head to the side so he could see his boy’s eyes shut, trying to concentrate on not falling apart until he was told. Pretty red mouth open just a little. All soft and pliant. Awaiting praise that Billy was more than willing to give.  _ But stay there though, I want to see. _

Billy spread the last of the lube over Harrington and lined up, slowly pressed forwards and in with a small rock of his hips. Watched Harrington’s jaw tense and his expression mix between a short burst of irritation before just melting and practically purring as Billy kept going. Pushing slow but constant into tight heat that had him hanging his head and groaning every time.

He fit so well it was maddening.

He rubbed his fingers where they were in those damp brunette locks,  _ good boy _ , and gave it a minute before starting to move, switching his hands to hold onto Harrington’s hips at first, thumbs in the dimples in his back, before placing them on the desk with a heavy thump that made his boy flinch, flutter and clench around him. Made knuckles go whiter. Made the sweetest noise come from that pale expanse of throat.

Billy knew they were both just as fucked in the head.

There was never much on the desk. A golden pen holder to the left hand side, always three very expensive looking pens in it, waiting to be used but never were. A family photo in a gold frame in one corner. Harrington must have been no older than three in it. All chubby cheeks, eyes bright and full of wonder. He looked happy. Didn't know pain and disappointment yet. Didn't know missed birthdays and ball games and being taught to ride a bike by a friend.

Billy's father was there too much. Harrington's not enough.

The other corner of the desk, in the exact same frame was what Billy assumed to be a picture of Harrington’s mother. It looked old, maybe from the 60s when they were both in high school or college. She looked kind back then. When she still cared. Shared the same warm features as her son. There was a small polaroid of another woman tucked in the corner. With long blonde hair and a carefree expression. Billy never asked. He didn’t have to. It was pretty obvious. Harrington never looked towards that corner and always had his eyes closed towards the other. He only ever looked towards the door directly in front if he opened his eyes at all.

Billy petted him as he started thrusting hard, snapping his hips. Making Harrington whine and groan. Desperate and aching all over. His thighs either side of Billy’s tensing up but never shuffling his feet to relieve the pressure.

God Harrington was good. He was so, so  _ good _ .

Billy rolled forward, laying on that expanse of sweat covered skin, the edge of the desk digging hard into Harrington’s hips now and making him more breathless, pushing the air from his lungs and leaving bruises. Rolling his hips in just a way that Billy knew his heavy horse cock would be rubbing against the underside of the desk, slick and wet against the already smooth wood. Giving his boy that little bit extra. He deserved it.

“You’re gonna paint his desk, hear me?” Billy muttered deep next to his ear. Harrington nodded helplessly. So close but holding on. Not yet. Billy moved his hand to tug a little sharp on those locks, forcing Harrington’s mouth open in a bitten off cry. “Answer me baby. I wanna hear you say it.”

“G-gonna paint his desk d- _ ahh _ -” Billy felt Harrington’s knees start to go. Him and the desk the only things holding his poor, used body up anymore. But not yet, just a little longer.

“Wanna put my head underneath and see it. Want you to know your ol' man is usin’ our fuck table for work. That any moment he could touch underneath and feel what we do here.”

The noise dragged and ripped from Harrington’s throat was obscene. Desperate and ragged and so filled with lust and desire it burnt Billy’s ears hearing it. Slender fingers were threatening to rip the wood apart with the pressure of holding back.

“God please. Please. I promise.  _ I promise. Please daddy please _ .”

Billy thrust barely twice more before he came with a shout, his own hair limp and sweaty and dragged forward around his face by gravity as he hung over his boy, rutted into his hole deep, draining himself.

Harrington cried as he came, now that he could. Loose tears springing free and rolling down his pink cheeks as his body went into spasm with the force of it. Rocking into nothing, rocking back against Billy still buried to the hilt. Forcing the edge of the desk harder into his skin.  There was a dull, wet splatter of spunk hitting wood before they both fell limp. Panting hard in a pile of sweaty limbs on the floor. He held Harrington close, leant up against the desk drawers and rolled his head back to see their handiwork. It made him flush with pride as he rubbed softly up and down Harrington’s arm. Letting him roll his head into Billy’s neck, eyes closed. Blissed out and at peace. He deserved it.

“Good boy.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr page.](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/)


End file.
